Page 213 of The Unwilling Bride
I want to say fallen in love. I want to throw those words at him and watch what they do to his carefully controlled face.
He's been tender, yes. Careful with my body, and very generous. But he's never once said the word love in connection to us.
Maybe, it’s all one-sided. Maybe, this is just convenient sex for him?
I cross my arms over my chest and go with something else. "We could have just gotten to know each other better. Maybe we could have had a connection then, all those years ago, if you'd let it happen."
"There are an awful lot of maybes in that sentence." He clenches his jaw "I don't gamble with things that matter. And you matter to me. A lot.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.” The air leaves my lungs in arush. "You leveraged my desperation. You used your billions, and the fact that I'd have done almost anything—anything to be able to afford Freya’s education to make me agree to your marriage proposal." My voice cracks. "That was your strategy?"
"I didn’t see you complaining when you saw the money in your account."
I flinch.
His features instantly gentle. "Fuck. I’m an arse. I didn’t mean to say that."
"Yes, you did."
That wound in my chest grows deeper and seems to spread to the rest of my body.
"Not sure what I was expecting from you. Maybe the fact that you were so tender last night made me forget how heartless you actually are."
I’m in love with him.
Have been in love with him since I first saw him. I thought he was developing feelings for me, but it turns out, he’s still guarded. Still indifferent.
Still withholding his feelings for me.
His shoulders bunch.
I sense the tension ratchet up in the space between us, then he sighs. "I don’t want to fight with you. And I really am sorry I said that. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. In fact—" His phone vibrates again.
He answers the call, listens to it, then nods. "Thanks, Henrik.”
I turn to him, curiosity pinching at me even though I’m supposed to be angry with him. Also, I still care about The Edge.
"What happened?"
"He’s at the kitchen. There's a lot of speculation among the team about the video. We need to address it before more rumors circulate."
We’rein the kitchen of The Edge. It’s the pre-lunch preparation time. James called everyone in for a meeting as soon as we arrived.
The ghost of last night’s service lingers in the air. A faint mineral trace of stock and char that clings to the extraction hoods no matter how hard they're scrubbed. Traces of vinegar from yesterday's reductions,citrus zest, that particular damp-cold smell of a walk-in refrigerator opening and closing… All of it coalesces with the buzz of anticipation among the staff.
The stoves haven’t yet fired up. So, the cold in the air sinks into my bones and makes me shiver. Or maybe, it’s the dread from what the reaction of the team is going to be when James talks to them about Sam Miller’s video.
James stands rigidly at the pass, his arms crossed. His stance portrays power. That he is the head of the kitchen.
The overhead fluorescent lights are harsh. They’re designed to pick out every imperfection in a sauce, every smear on a plate. The light feels particularly bright as I resist the urge to shield my eyes.
I stand next to James but have put some space between us.
I’m aware of the tension that radiates off of me, but I’m unable to get myself to calm down.
James claps his hands, thrice.
Instantly, the buzz of conversation among the team dies down.
